


and the world still spins

by Sanna_Black_Slytherin



Series: The Other 51 [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety, Bisexual Alexander Hamilton, Canon Bisexual Character, Canon Character of Color, Canon Queer Character, Emotional Hurt, Henry Laurens' A+ Parenting, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, John is a bit fucked up, M/M, NaNoWriMo, Underage warning because they're both sixteen, also known as astrophobia FYI, fear of storms, the timeline seems linear but it's somewhat messed up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 06:06:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8521378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanna_Black_Slytherin/pseuds/Sanna_Black_Slytherin
Summary: Alexander and John talk about everything and nothing, but the important conversations are the ones left unspoken.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a reflection of my current mood as well as the changes in Alex and John's relationship in this story. I never thought that anything Jefferson said could be inspiring, but then again, I also never thought that an over-inflated pumpkin could be elected president, and yet here we are.
> 
> Buckle in, this is going to be a long ride.

Their windows had been joined for as long as Alexander remembered.

The houses had been built this way, argued ostensibly to foster cooperation between neighbours; in truth, it had been found to be the optimal way of fitting maximal space into minimal yard area. The architects designed it thus, without a care as to the privacy of the occupants of the adjoining rooms.

It was not simply a coincidence that Alexander's room was situated by the conjoined roofs. When he was first taken in by the Washingtons, they offered him a choice of two bedrooms. He chose this one, for the simple reason of it being further away from the master bedroom. That way, he would not wake them up with his recurring nightmares. In his previous foster home, he did not take that into consideration, and it did not end well for Alexander. Let it not be said that Alexander didn't learn from his mistakes.

Of course, the Washingtons then spent the following weeks making sure that Alexander knew that he could come to them with anything. By the time it had finally sunk in that they would not lay a hand on him, the bedroom has been filled with not only his old things – which were few and far in between, just a notebook he received for Christmas from his mother, and a photograph of her – but also with various gifts from the Washingtons, which included everything from homemade scarfs to expensive pieces of tech littering his room, because George had decided that Alexander would need everything in the shop, and wouldn't take no for an answer.

(This analysis doesn't take into account his ridiculously opulent wardrobe, which, quite frankly, still made Alexander nauseous just by thinking about the sheer cost of the fabrics.)

Alexander could have changed rooms, could have requested that he take the other bedroom, but what would be the point? Besides, by the time he became comfortable with the Washingtons, he had met John.

John's full name was John Henry Laurens. He was the oldest son of Henry and Eleanor Laurens. His mother died when he was young, and he was the only Laurens sibling who still remembered her. Henry Laurens, from what Alexander observed and deduced, was not the nicest person to begin with, but after the death of his wife, he went off the deep end. He overindulged in alcohol and started staying very late at work, leaving the nanny to raise his kids. John contributed when he could, but his options were limited.

John would sometimes sneak over to Alexander's room after his father returned from work intoxicated and took his failures out on John. John never told him directly, but Alexander perceived that he was shielding his younger siblings from the brunt of their father's rage. Alexander would quietly treat his injuries, and help him with the bandages to hide the bruises. He initially encouraged John to report the abuse to child services, but John refused, saying that if the child services found out about the abuse, they would be taken into the system and split up, and he didn't know if he could bear not seeing his siblings again for years, if ever. If keeping quiet about his father's bad temperament was the cost of his siblings staying together, John would gladly pay it.

Alexander understood where John was coming from – if he had the chance to save his mother, he would be willing to sacrifice anything just to see her again. Still, it infuriated him to no end that the gentle soul that was John Laurens had to withstand the sort of abuse heaped upon him by his own father. Henry Laurens reminded Alexander entirely too much of his biological father for comfort, who was causative of Alexander being forced into the foster system in the first place.

* * *

 

“I'm fucked up,” John said bitterly one evening.

Alexander paused in the process of dipping a towel in cold water and creating a makeshift compress to assuage the worst of John's injuries. “Maybe,” he replied, keeping his voice carefully even. He saw no point in lying. In his experience, no matter how harsh the truth was, it was always preferable to the sweetest of lies. “Then again, so am I. We are all broken in our own way.”

John clutched his arm, watchful not to make any sudden movements as to not jostle his bandages. “Alexander, I don't know if I can keep this up,” he confessed. “Father– he has recently become more violent, more prone to striking the young ones. And it takes longer for me to recover each time. I'm not strong enough–” he choked on a whimper.

Alexander shushed him. “You are the strongest person I know, John,” he replied, “but you have to say but a word and you will never have to see your father again. We can get you out of there. You are aware of that.”

John winced, though whether that was because of his words or because Alexander had just started disinfecting the split in his hand, was unclear. “And you know that I can't do that. I have already explained it to you.”

“You could exchange phone numbers and come together every month to reconnect,” Alexander suggested.

“There would be no guarantee that they'd get into good homes,” John protested.

“Your current home is incapable of providing you with help that would be optimal for your continued growth. It is not sufficiently stimulating in the right directions, and is impeding your development into an adult,” Alexander pointed out bluntly.

“Mary is only five,” John retorted.

“She will have priority in the selection process. She will be in good health. You, on the other hand, might not, if you insist on continuing this martyrdom. John, you cannot risk your life. I beg of you, reconsider your choices.”

“I'm doing this for you!” John burst out. He regretted his words as soon as they had left his mouth, but there was no way of nullifying his statement, unless he knew how to reverse time itself.

Alexander blinked bemusedly like a confused owlet, trying to wrap his sharp mind around the statement. “For me?” he repeated disbelievingly. “If you are truly doing this for my sake, then I implore that you cease this self-torture.”

“I can't bear to lose you, Alexander.”

Alexander covered John's hand with his own and squeezed. “Please don't injure yourself for my sake. Do not mistake my words for dismissal – you are very dear to me – but you must realize that I am not worthy of such a sacrifice, especially when it is ineffectual.”

“I think you underestimate your own value.”

“On the contrary; I am all too aware of exactly how much of an asset I am, and how much of a burden.”

John glared at Alexander, who was forced to look away from his friend's intense stare. “Never say that you are a burden,” he punctuated each word by poking Alexander in the chest with his free hand. “ _Never._ ”

“Then you will, in turn, desist engaging in martyrdom.”

“I'm not being a martyr,” John protested.

“This is something we will have to disagree on,” Alexander replied firmly. “You should not have to live through such atrocities.”

“And you should not have lost your mother, but we don't always get what we deserve,” John snapped, tired of Alexander's constant nagging.

“No, but that does not merit purposefully putting yourself in danger.”

John sighed. “You are incredibly stubborn,” he said idly.

“That statement is more hypocritical than the kettle calling the pot,” Alexander snorted. “Do you want to watch a movie?” he changed the subject abruptly, and John took the question for what it was – an olive branch.

John perked up. “Do you still have Indiana Jones?”

Alexander scoffed. “Of course I do, do you take me for a heathen?”

* * *

 

Even before that, Alexander wanted to discuss John's domestic situation with George and Martha. One thing stopped him: even if they were to discover John's precarious predicament, they wouldn't be able to help without resorting calling CPS, and Alexander had sworn to John that he would do his utmost to prevent that. Still, Alexander had a firm hunch that his foster parents knew, or at least suspected, what was going on in the Laurens household but were likewise incapable of doing anything but offering John shelter whenever he needed it; the Washingtons never complained when John stayed the night, nor did they inquire as to whether John's father knew where he was. They were as supportive as could be, considering their hands were tied.

Oh, they could certainly attempt to rectify the situation, but two obstacles immediately presented themselves. For one, the Washingtons has known the Laurens family far longer than Alexander, and if Alexander had arrived at the conclusion that if someone were to accuse Henry Laurens of something without explicit proof, his wealth would cause the dispute to disappear. From years of experience, Alexander had also learned that if John did not want to do something, there was no way to force him to change his mind. He was an excellent liar, and would not hesitate to use that particular skill set to guard his siblings against the bureaucratic nightmare that was the foster system – Alexander would know, he went through five homes before Lady Luck smiled at him and he found himself in the tender yet meticulous care of the Washingtons.

Sometimes, Alexander would crawl over to John's place, mindful to be quiet so that Mr Laurens wouldn't figure out that something was amiss. John found out about his phobia of storms, and would ground him during thunderstorms, and, on one memorable occasion, a hurricane. Alexander never let anyone but John see him in such a vulnerable state – he didn't want to show his weaknesses to anyone else, not even, or maybe especially, the Washingtons. The very thought that people like Jefferson would find out and blackmail him paralyzed him with fear. Yet John, sweet, gentle John, sat with him, sometimes for hours, providing comfort. For that alone, Alexander would never be able to repay the other boy.

He found himself relying on John increasingly more as time went by. Somehow, without Alexander noticing, John had crawled his way into Alexander's heart and carved out a place for himself. John was his drug and simultaneously his cure, the chaos and the order, his clarity in a confusing world. Alexander could barely imagine a life without John – yes, he would survive and move on, if need be, but it would hurt like losing a limb, and the pain would never disappear completely.

Alexander found that he did not mind at all.

* * *

Alexander Hamilton was, quite possibly, the best thing that ever happened to John Laurens.

John was under no illusions that Alexander needed him just as much as he needed Alexander, and this was the only reason why he wasn't ashamed of his dependency on his friend. Alexander was there when he was needy, had seen him during at his worst, and still stuck by him. John had once told Alexander that what mattered to him the most were his siblings, but over the years, Alexander has slowly become the most important person in John's life, surpassing even Martha. John did not tell Alexander that at times, it felt like he was enduring his father's temper tantrums just so that he could remain by Alexander's, because he knew that Alexander would object to John being harmed just so he could stay close to Alexander. He would say that nothing was worth risking John's health, not even – especially not – his presence. So John did not speak up.

Alexander, on the other hand, always spoke up. He had an opinion about seemingly everything – the state of the international economy (currently precarious, but with potential for improvement if India's production rate improved), what colour Easter eggs ought to be (something between shamrock and emerald), what restrictions would make New York streets safer (a complete ban of cell phones, as well as mandatory reflective vests), whether cherry ice creams trumped their raspberry counterpart (they did not, _thank you very much_ ), who should win the election (Clinton, although he was originally more partial to Sanders), and who was to blame for the global warming (all major industrial countries, but first and foremost America and China).

He was remarkably quiet on the subject of religion. When John asked why, he replied that he used to believe in God, but he could not comprehend how a fair and compassionate God could allow such atrocities to happen to John. Either, Alexander said, God does not exist, or, if He does, He is not fair and compassionate but an accomplice to Satan's crimes.

John would often complain about his formal vernacular and about how he understood maybe two thirds of what Alexander said most of the time – a fourth if Alexander was in the middle of one of his rants – and Alexander would always respond that for as long as he lived, the English language would have at least one champion of circumlocution. He had built up a reputation for being well-spoken – almost exceedingly so.

He always spoke up – except when it mattered to Alexander the most, because John asked him to keep it quiet. It almost physically pained him not to be able to help.

When Alexander did not debate various matters, he wrote. He wrote about everything and nothing and all things in between, and if not reminded of basic human functions, he could write for days without pause. After John had witnessed Alexander suddenly collapse in front of him because he had not slept for four days, he promised himself that he would never allow this to happen again.

Alexander Hamilton always had to stand for something. It was almost a compulsive need, not always a desirable trait. _If you stand for nothing, what will you fall for?_

Somehow, in spite of how much Alexander always had going and how busy he seemed at any given moment, he also found the time to teach John French, arguing that it is the language of the influential, and that if one wanted to get anywhere in the world, one had to have at least a passable understanding of the language. Alexander himself was a language prodigy – English, Spanish, French, even German and Dutch which he picked up on the way to America, came to him as naturally as breathing. John took perverse satisfaction in the fact that this gift did not extend to sign language when John had taken it upon himself to repay Alexander's language lessons, despite Alexander's insistence that there was no need for any sort of repayment. Still, after months of arduous work, Alexander was able to hold an extended conversation with John's younger brother James. James' responding smile was worth every bit of the effort it took to create another conversation partner for James. John's brother was not shy by any means, but the lack of a common language tended to, however involuntarily, create social barriers, and very few of James' acquaintances made the effort to learn how to communicate non-verbally. Even when he was unable to use words, Alexander chattered ceaselessly.

Alexander was notorious not only for his loquaciousness. He was also known as a tomcat, so much so that his foster mother recently named a stray she had found in an animal shelter after him. Alexander had a tendency to invite people to his room, and John could usually hear them go at it. Guys, girls, it did not seem to make a difference to Alexander. John knew that these people weren't Alexander's dates – Alexander did not _date_.  What they did was mindless fucking; there were no feelings involved, at least John hoped so. For a long time, John would never admit out loud that he was jealous of these faceless individuals, or that he has had a low-key crush on Alexander since that time when they were ten and Alexander helped patch him up for the first time and John swore him to secrecy regarding his living conditions, though he was oblivious to his feelings for three years after that. He had only become aware of his infatuation after Alexander came out to him – which, in hindsight, could have gone better.

Alexander came out to John when they were thirteen. It was one of those rare weekends when Henry Laurens was away on business, and John took the opportunity to spend quality time with Alexander. Alexander was fidgeting the entire morning, which was unusual for him since he wasn't known for being nervous about his views. John mentally braced himself for yet another controversial discussion every time Alexander looked like he was finally going to speak up about whatever was bothering him.

What came out of his friend's mouth wasn't what he had prepared himself for. “I'm bisexual,” Alexander didn't dance around the subject – he went straight to the core of the matter. John blinked bemusedly, then looked away from Alexander's scrutinizing stare. He felt uncomfortable for no apparent reason, and he could feel his face flush red. When he didn't respond for another moment, Alexander slumped his shoulders dejectedly. “Is that going to be a problem?” his voice sounded pained, as if John had physically struck him.

John shook himself out of a stupor. “I– I don't think so?” he phrased it more as a question. Yes, Henry often reiterated that all people not attracted to the opposite gender were sinners who were going to hell, and that homosexuality was disgusting. John had once been tempted to ask whether that applied to people who felt the attraction but didn't act on it, but he could imagine the consequences of such a line of questioning, and the answer wasn't worth a broken rib.

John was left to parse out what was the truth in his father's opinions, and what was judgmental bullshit. He came to the conclusion that, in the end, he didn't care whom people were attracted to, as long as they were decent people, though, if he was honest with himself, actual interaction with gay men would make him decidedly uncomfortable. It wasn't as if he was afraid to 'catch the gay', as his father put it, because that implied that homosexuality was a disease spread by a virus – but on the other hand, didn't a person become affected by those around him? What if Alexander would cause him to be attracted to men? What if Alexander kissed him? Why was he even considering such a scenario? Was Alexander already changing him? Was he going to start suddenly liking guys?

Alexander was watching him with wary eyes. Even defensive, he was adorable. John's thoughts came to a scratching halt. Had he just thought of Alexander as adorable? He forced himself to speak. “I mean, you're still you, but have you considered that it might be just a phase?” he tried to say it as kindly as he could, but his voice quivered.

Alexander glared. “You know, I never pegged you, of all people for one of those patronizing heterosexists,” he snapped. “It just goes to show how little you truly know a person,” he closed his eyes and pinched his nose, considering. “Get out,” he finally said without opening his eyes. John opened his mouth to argue, but Alexander raised his palm to silence him. “I frankly don't want to hear it, John. Please leave my house.”

“Alex–“

“I'll talk to you on Monday. I can't talk to you right now,” Alexander's tone was final.

John climbed out of the window, ignoring the pang in his heart as Alexander locked the window behind him. He had never done that before.

* * *

 

On Monday, he met Alexander and they went about their routine without a mention of their fight. Still, something had changed between them, though John only noticed after a few days. Alexander had lost his tactility and candor around John; he had become more taciturn, secretive, which was odd for the otherwise outspoken Alexander. He no longer sought out John's presence at every moment, no longer looked to him first at school or at home. John found that he missed Alexander's presence more than anything in the world. He never realized how much space Alexander occupied with his mere presence until it was empty. Nobody was holding a lecture to a one-man audience, nobody was there to provide commentary that John shushed but secretly adored. They gradually grew apart, stopped seeing each other, Alexander even going as far as to avoid him at times.

Still, maybe it was better this way. Maybe his crush would disappear. Maybe this was a phase for John.

On the other hand, he may have just made the biggest mistake in his life.

* * *

 

Eventually, John came to terms with his sexuality. He realized that it wasn't Alexander's fault that he was gay, and that it wasn't anything anyone had to be at fault for, because it wasn't a bad thing. It was just a part of himself, like his right-handedness. He realized that Henry Laurens was wrong, and that he wasn't going to go to hell; if anything, his father was, for saying such vile things about his fellow human beings. John also realized how badly he had treated Alexander when he had first come out, but it was too late to apologize at this point – besides, even if he wanted to, Alexander still avoided him like fire.

John absentmindedly wondered who helped Alexander through thunderstorms these days. Did he have a significant other? John was doubtful, because he would have heard about it through the rumour mill by now. He did discover that Alexander had started to wear glasses which, in the ladies' opinion, made him look like a nerdy yet handsome gentleman. This was what it had come to – John had to shift through the rumour mill to find information about his former best friend, about the person that mattered the most in his life.

John eventually cornered him in the library. They were alone, apart from the bored-looking librarian who was lazily reading a book in the corner. He had researched Alexander's schedule, which was different from John's now that they were in high school and in different classes, and had skipped history to talk to his– what? His neighbour? His friend? John knew that he didn't deserve the title of Alexander's friend, but he also felt that 'neighbours' did not do justice to their relationship, to what they used to be.

He steeled himself, then approached the table where Alexander had spread out his notebooks and was writing something frantically. “Alex?” he asked, and watched as Alexander flinched at the sound of his voice. His face morphed from surprise to dismay, sadness, fear (and that gave John's stomach a twist, knowing that he was the one who caused that emotion in Alexander), before finally settling on mild irritation. When it didn't seem like Alexander would respond, John continued. “Can we talk?”

“We're talking,” Alexander countered succinctly.

“Can I sit?” John gestured to the chair.

Alexander shrugged. “It's a free country.”

John took a seat, distractedly noting that Alexander seemed to have taken up using contractions. Somehow, that felt wrong to John's ears, as if Alexander, his pure, amazing Alexander, had been stained by society and forced down to a mediocre level. He also agreed with the ladies – Alexander was totally rocking the glasses. “I want to apologize.”

Alexander raised an eyebrow. “For what?” he asked, without a trace of bitterness in his voice. He had always been a good actor. “You have done nothing unlawful.”

John clenched his right hand into a fist. “Drop the charade, Alex. I know I have been a dick to you when you came out to me, and I just want to say that I'm really sorry.”

Alexander laughed, and _there_ it was – the bitterness. “You want to _apologize_?” he repeated incredulously, as if the words tasted sourly in his mouth. “Do you really think it's going to be enough if you just come up to me and say 'I'm sorry'?” He chuckled. “Do you really think that's going to be enough, and that everything is going  to be alright between us?”

“No, but I realized that I was so very wrong, and I wanted to tell you that I know I shouldn't have reacted that way.”

“You mean that you wanted to make yourself feel better and be absolved of the guilt eating inside at you,” Alexander guessed correctly. “You should not have said those things. You have no idea how awful they made me feel. Invalidated. I thought that if I could trust somebody, it would be you, you who were my closest friend. Instead, in that moment, it felt like you tore out a piece of my soul. Do you know what that feels like?”

 _Yes, I do,_ John wanted to respond, but he knew that would be the wrong thing to say, and this was quite possibly his only chance to fix his relationship with Alexander.

“I can't apologize enough for my words,” he said instead.

“You've got that right,” Alexander scoffed. “Now, if you have said your piece, leave me alone. I have plans, and none of them include you,” he looked down at his notebooks, dismissing John out of his thoughts.

“I'm gay,” John blurted out, being at a loss at what to say but knowing that he could not let this moment slip through his fingers and fade into nothingness.

Alexander slowly raised his head and locked eyes with John. They were furious. “I don't appreciate you making fun of me,” he said, a dangerous tone to his voice.

“I'm not,” John insisted. “I wouldn't joke about something like this. I really _am_ gay.”

“Then why…?” Alexander trailed off, twirling a pen between the fingers in his right hand.

“You made me feel uncomfortable because I started to realize that I found men attractive, and my father fed me all that homophobic propaganda about how homosexuals are going to hell.”

The pen stilled. “That's still not an excuse to say the things you've said.”

“I know,” John admitted. “I lashed out at you because you were an available target. I can't make it up to you if I tried until the very end.”

For once, Alexander had no response to that. The library was silent for a while.

“You do realize that our relationship won't ever go back to the way it used to be,” Alexander eventually broke the silence. This was something John had since resigned himself to.

“I know. I don't deserve to have a friend like you,” he ignored the way Alexander's face softened ever-so-slightly. “I just want to be on speaking terms again, maybe hang out once in a while. I miss you,” he confessed.

The furious spark in Alexander's eyes dissipated, and his old friend smiled the first genuine smile John had seen in years. “I have missed you too.”

* * *

Their relationship didn't so much heal as it was created anew. Although they were awkward around each other at first, both unsure of where the boundaries in their new friendship laid, they made the effort to created a brand new relationship, pushing boundaries and fitting as seamlessly as two adjoining pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. They changed their old routines to suit their current lives – some they kept, some they discarded as obsolete.

Alexander eventually started mentioning various dates, both girls and guys, and he and John took to gossiping about the most attractive guys at school. Every time the subject came up, John was tempted to respond 'you', but he never quite dared to.

When their relationship changed for a second time, it was at Alexander's initiative. They were watching some romantic comedy or other on Alexander's bed, laughing at the terrible acting, when Alexander sat up and turned his eyes on him. “John, I need to confess something,” he said.

John met Alexander's eyes quizzically, but obligingly sat up. That's when Alexander leaned forward and captured his lips in a kiss.

It was exactly everything John had ever imagined it would be like (and yes, he had fantasized about this moment countless of times, but never hoping it would actually happen), and yet unlike anything he had ever felt. Lightning spread through his body, radiating from where Alexander kissed him all the way to his limbs.

Alexander made to pull away, but John held fast and reciprocated the kiss. Their noses clashed as they tried to figure out the best position to kiss. Alexander's lips formed a smile, and he deepened the kiss, his tongue set about exploring John's mouth. John submitted to the search.

John didn't know when he found himself laying on his back on Alexander's bed, Alexander straddling his hips and pushing his body fully against John's, who became acutely aware of his growing arousal and increasingly tight trousers. By the feel of it, he wasn't the only one affected by their situation, as Alexander's crotch was pressing for attention – in the literal sense of the word as well as the metaphorical. He pressed his body against Alexander's, moaning when their cocks touched through the double layer of fabric. One of Alexander's hands landed on John's chest, then drifted south to the bulge in John's pants. He stroked it, then gripped it through the pants and squeezed. John moaned into the kiss. Alexander swiftly unzipped and removed John's pants and underwear – John tried not to focus on how many times Alexander has to have done this – and broke the kiss. John took a deep breath, feeling as if he had run a marathon, then groaned when Alexander's mouth closed around John's cock. John gripped Alexander's hair and thrust against his mouth.

Alexander started at the base of John's cock. His tongue was precise and meticulous, experienced, and it was all John could to not to writhe as Alexander expertly maneuvered his tongue exactly where it needed to go. He periodically drew back to run his tongue the length of John's hardness, then sucked his testicles.

John pulled at Alexander's hair, which, infuriatingly, only made Alexander slow down, though never for too long. John's jaw was slackened, and words unsuited for his younger siblings flew freely from his mouth.

Alexander eventually moved higher up John's cock, eliciting loud moans as he repeated his repertoire from before.

As John could feel himself climaxing, he started thrusting into Alexander's mouth. He trembled through his release, watched Alexander swallow his come, then rose into a seating position once again. “Lay down,” he ordered hoarsely, mouth dry from overuse.

Alexander obliged. John rid Alexander of his clothes, then took Alexander's erection in his right hand and began. He found immense satisfaction in watching Alexander writhe in pleasure, written all over his face, his composure long gone, and knowing that he made Alexander feel this way.

He already knew that Alexander was a screamer, but to be the one fucking him was a new experience entirely. John thanked his lucky stars that the Washingtons were attending a gala in Baltimore, and weren't scheduled to return until the day after tomorrow.

Alexander made thrusting motions, and John steeled himself. He soon came into John's palm, utter bliss written all over his face as he went through the tremors. His mouth was open but no sound was coming out. John slowly raised his hand to his mouth and licked it experimentally, which made Alexander smile amused. He then dragged the both of them to the bathroom to clean up.

Later, when they were back in bed, John curled against Alexander, John brought up Alexander's confession, or the lack thereof, from earlier that day. “You said that you wanted to confess something,” he phrased it as a statement rather than a question.

Alexander turned to look at him with a sappy grin. “Yes,” he agreed, “I wanted to tell you that I am in love with you,” he said frankly, not beating around the bush.

John returned the smile. “I have something to confess myself,” he replied. “I have been crushing on you since forever,” his smile dropped and he continued in a more serious voice: “It was part of the reason I lashed out – I couldn't deal with my feelings concerning you.”

Alexander turned around to face John properly. “What about now?” he inquired lightly, but his body had tensed up. He was staring up at John worriedly.

John kissed Alexander's nose. “Still very much in love with your obnoxious self,” he teased.

Alexander smirked. “Oh, am I _obnoxious_ now?” he retorted.

John nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely,” he confirmed.

Alexander's smirk turned predatory. “Why, you minx,” and with that, he pinned John to the bed, locking their mouths in a kiss.

* * *

John moved out as soon as he reached eighteen, taking all his siblings with him. He found an apartment a few blocks from his old house. His father was tremendously dissatisfied, but when John threatened to take him to court, claiming that he had years of photographic evidence of perpetual child abuse, which would completely ruin his career, Henry had to concede defeat. Alexander wanted to move in with him, but John said that between himself and his five siblings in his cramped apartment, there was hardly any room to sit, let alone for another person to live. Still, they saw each other every day at school, and spent the majority of their leisure time together.

None of John's siblings minded John's boyfriend hanging out at their apartment. Martha was supportive, James was ecstatic since he once again had a conversation partner, Mary thought romance in general was yucky, while Junior simply didn't care either way.

Nevertheless, Alexander still made sure to ask Junior's opinion before proposing to John two years later.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if the romance part doesn't sound realistic. I'm asexual as well as aromantic, so this is the hardest text I have ever written, since I was writing blindly, and I don't know if I did it justice. I sincerely hope so.
> 
> Next up: an asexual James Madison watching Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton dance around each other and build up UST.


End file.
